Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 62737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
I swim to the edge near my cigarettes, my hand grips the deck, and I use my upper body to propel myself out of the pool. The only problem is I’ve made a rookie fucking mistake. “Goddamn it.” Water spills over, ruining any chances of enjoying a smoke now. I stand up, bend down to snatch the ruined pack, crunch it in my hand, and abandon the idea of using nicotine to calm my frayed edges. I walk back to my bedroom. The door is still open, letting the damn air condition escape like a fucking idiot. I’m dripping wet when I move through the room, this time shutting the door behind me. I’m in and out of the bathroom without flipping the switch, there’s no need to see the dark circles beneath my eyes at this time of day. I wipe myself down with the towel and throw the pack of smokes in the trash. With any luck, my Zippo lighter won’t be ruined.
The next order of business is shorts. Swimming naked is fine. Walking around my house naked? No problem. Sitting on my furniture without something on my body? Not fucking happening. I open the drawer of my dresser, grab the first available pair, and go through the process of slipping them on. I’m still disgruntled, more about my cigarettes than the nightmare at this point. My eyes are well adjusted to the darkness and navigate through the room to grab my phone. As I look at the bed, I’m disgusted I’ll have to strip the sheets again for the third time this week.
I make my way out of my bedroom, keeping the lights off while walking down the hallway. I’d usually find solace in my home office, but tonight, with shit going the way it is, there’s no amount of work that will distract me. Which means it’s time to sit my grumpy ass on the couch and find some candy to keep me occupied from jonesing for a smoke. I’m half tempted to grab my keys and head to the nearest gas station. The one thing holding me back is having the forethought that if I got behind the wheel of my 1968 Chevrolet Camaro Z28 edition, I’d no doubt wrap it around a tree with my heavy foot and heavier thoughts. So, instead, I veer off to the kitchen and go straight to my snack drawer to grab the plethora of candy I keep on hand.
The light above the stove illuminates what I’m after, and I hit pay dirt when my eyes land on the small, round, tropical-fruit-flavored candies with a hardshell. I snatch two packs and move into the living room. I flop down on the couch, tossing the candy and my phone next to remote while already knowing I’m about to get online to play Echoes of Destruction.
I grab the remote and turn on the television before finding my controller to turn on the game. While I wait for the game to load, my hand reaches for the candy, and I rip open the bag, bring it to my mouth, and toss a few in. The urge for nicotine subsides, allowing me to take a damn breath like a normal person.
Ronnie4u flashes on the screen, letting me know the dude I added a while back is on. They never talk, I figure it’s some kid who doesn’t want to get caught by their parents for being on late at night. I wait a beat to see what’ll happen. For all I know, Ronnie4u is downloading a game. I continue eating the candy, keeping my mouth full at all times, and that’s when I say, “Fuck it,” grab the headset off the ottoman in front of me, slide it on, and see if he or she will take the bait by adding them to a clan.
At least something is turning around tonight when they join in. My mind shuts down. No longer is the past of hell licking at my heels, that shit fades to the background. Yet I’m no fool and well aware the nightmares will more than likely meet me again in my sleep. The date on my phone chases me no matter what. Anytime I look, it’s like a goddamn beacon at sea calling you to the light and reminding me what happened.
“Dude,” I say into the mic when I see movement behind Ronnie. My mind is on nothing but what’s right in front of me. Call me shallow, call me a loser, you can even call me a boy trapped in a man’s body. Until you’ve walked a mile in my shoes, you can get fucked. “Dude, are you going to take care of them?” I ask, getting to the point. Ronnie is about done for, like, on the ground needing to be revived, and I’ve got fuck all to help since we haven’t secured dick in this map.